Page 9 of Exposed
I need to do this for my motherandmyself.
“Yes, Doctor,” the assistant in glasses says. My pulse skips a beat. He gestures to the side. “Follow me.”
And I do.
Before I have the chance to straighten my clothes, the assistant is out the door. I catch up to him as he unlocks a nearby room. The key jiggles in the lock, then he pushes open the door.
An adjustable exam bed with paper lining is stationed in the back of the room. A sink is bordered by cabinets and countertops, and in the corner, a metal filing cabinet is busted open. A drain is in the middle of the blackened tiles. Light flickers from the fixtures overhead, casting shadows under a circular, wheeled stool.
And a mirror covers the entire back wall.
Every muscle in my back tightens. The mirror’s surface is dingy and gray, like old mop water, and my reflection looks different, as if my entire body is distorted. Another version of me shedding from the inner carcass.
Benji mentioned a double-sided mirror he saw in Dr. Ambrose’s office. This must be it. Dr. Ambrose is probably watching everything right now.
The assistant motions to the bed. “Please undress and sit on the exam table. The doctor will be in shortly.”
I bite my lip. My eyes flicker around the room, searching for a paper dress. “Where’s my gown?”
The assistant’s nostrils flare. “We will be conducting a full body examination, Miss Ward. Your modesty is unnecessary here.”
I frown. The assistant is slightly taller than me with short black hair. He can’t be more than ten years older than me, and yet he acts like he’s a scholar and I’m a failing student. He’s probably as bad as Dr. Ambrose. If I get the chance, maybe I should kill him too.
For now, Dr. Ambrose is my goal.
I hold the bottom of my shirt. The assistant removes a clipboard from one of the cabinets, then leans on the sink as he takes notes. Is he staying for this too?
“You expect me to undress while you’re in the room?” I ask.
He purses his lips. “Now,Miss Ward.”
“Turn around.”
He huffs. “The specimen needs my assistance then.”
I wrinkle my brow. “Thewhat?”
He bounds toward me. A breath catches in my throat. He grabs my shirt and hoodie, and I shove his chest, pushing him away from me.
“What the fuck?” I yell.
His hands scrape my stomach as he wrenches the clothes over my head, then twists my arms behind my back. My chest slams into the exam table, and the paper lining crunches under my cheek. His peppery cologne swirls in my head.
My core flames with the need to scratch his eyes outandthe desire to thrust my ass into his groin.
I don’t like this,I tell myself.I’m here for my mother. I’m not into the assistant. And I’m definitely not into Dr. Ambrose. I’m here for?—
With his free hand, the assistant pulls down my thong and thermal leggings. Cold air cascades over my ass, my skin pebbling in goosebumps.
The tube of acid is lodged against my foot. I need to play nice, so he leaves me alone, then I can hide the vial without his knowledge.
“Undress,” he mutters. “Or I will get rid of the clothesfor you.”
His voice is dry and harsh, as if my existence is an inconvenience to him. Acid rises in my esophagus, repulsion and excitement warring in my rib cage. He’s so dismissive that it’s infuriating, but there’s something else there, buried inside of me, that isn’t quite sure how to feel. A part that enjoys this for some reason.
A part that thinks it would be better if it came from Dr. Ambrose.
I shift on my feet. The tube of acid rides against the arch of my foot. Slowly, I push down my leggings. I don’t take them off completely yet.
